


Reflection

by darkcyan



Series: Tumblr Fics [3]
Category: Natsume Yuujinchou | Natsume's Book of Friends
Genre: Gen, high school adventures, pre-Matoba/Natori if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-02
Updated: 2015-11-02
Packaged: 2018-04-29 13:49:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5129972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkcyan/pseuds/darkcyan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A chance meeting in a forest.  </p>
<p>(Seiji learns both more and less than he expects.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reflection

**Author's Note:**

> I wasn't originally intending to post anything for Matoba's birthday, but then I remembered [this](http://cyanmnemosyne.tumblr.com/post/128966977873/3-with-horrible-exorcists-pleaseeeee-3) not-actually-a-drabble that I never got around to pulling over here and posting. so. uh. 
> 
> Happy (belated, oops) birthday, most suspicious of suspicious exorcists. :) 
> 
> **Spoilers:** references to certain revelations in volume 19

_I am ready for this_ , Seiji thinks, as he examines his bow before carefully returning it to its case.

_I must be ready for this_ , he thinks, as he double-checks the contents of his fanny pack: a handful of small wards, carefully chosen. Cheap tricks, yes, but they should be sufficient to buy him time if he needs it. He doubts this target will give him the opportunity to simply snipe at it from a well-prepared position.

In his mind’s eye, Nanase-san grants him a mildly chiding look. _“I would recommend against taking on this request,”_ she had said, _“It is foolhardy to expose yourself to such risks.”_

He shakes his head slightly, dislodging the image.

_A weak clan head is worse than no head at all_.

He hadn’t said that. He saw little reason to belabor the obvious.

A single ward in his hand, the paper fluttering lightly, he strides deeper into the forest that the people in town call ‘haunted’.

* * *

It’s a cool day, just a hair too warm for the lightweight hoodie Seiji wears, and the sunlight dapples the path ahead of him. His hair brushes at his neck with each passing breeze; he does not regret the decision to start growing it out, but looks forward to when it will finally be long enough to pull back.

His alert eyes and ears catch flashes, hints, of the small youkai who inhabit this place. The locals have no idea just how many of them live here, small and quiet and for the most part harmless. And that is as it should be.

They are not his quarry today.

His quarry is the true reason this forest is called ‘haunted’: the source of the reports of family and beloved friends, gone or simply far away, appearing with friendly greetings and beguiling words. (No fools, the sources of those reports had known better than to believe the smiles and lies.) Of a handful of people gone missing, thought to have been lured away.

A shapeshifter, of course. That is the reason he’s here. But likely weak and not terribly convincing, or there would be far fewer reports and far more missing.

Curiosity flutters in the back of his mind, but that, too, he dismisses. It will only distract him.

* * *

Ahead, Seiji sees a break in the trees; the path he walks intersecting another of similar size. He hears the crunch of leaves and twigs being crushed, and briefly tenses before forcing himself to relax.

That he meets someone is not a surprise.

It _is_ , however, a surprise _who_ he meets.

Shuuichi stares at him, astonishment and irritation writ large across his face. He wears a messenger bag, considerably thinner than the last time they met; the left side of his light jacket is suspiciously bulky, but his hands are empty. “Seiji? What are _you_ doing here?”

This is … concerning.

He had expected – well. He had made a point of not expecting. But his father, perhaps, currently gone on business in Hokkaido. Maybe Nanase-san. Or his mother, whose face he recalled only from photographs.

This shapeshifter’s powers must be weaker than he thought.

(Or – but no, that thought is also a distraction.)

“I could ask the same of you,” Seiji says.

“Isn’t it obvious?”

Seiji smiles. “The request recommended working in at least pairs,” he says. “For good reason, don’t you think?”

Shuuichi bristles, and too late Seiji realizes his words might be taken as a reference to the fact that few exorcists would willingly work with the too-young, too-green scion of a ruined clan.

(Nor would Shuuichi willingly work with them, from what Seiji has seen. He thinks Shuuichi might understand his desire to test himself better than most.)

(The thought is not a comfortable one.)

He chides himself, for momentarily forgetting that this is _not_ the real Shuuichi. The reaction is likely a defense mechanism, nothing more.

“ _You’re_ alone, too,” Shuuichi replies pointedly, dappled sunlight reflecting off his golden hair.

“Well, then,” Seiji says, and smiles. “Shall we team up?”

It is better to keep one’s enemies where one can see them, after all. And surely the youkai will see this as its opportunity to lure him in.

“I’m not going to –” Shuuichi starts to snap, and Seiji feels the first stirrings of doubt. But then he pauses, reluctance clear. “… Sure, fine.” And, like it’s pulling teeth: “Where were you headed?”

“Why, deeper into the forest. Where else?”

* * *

“How have your studies been progressing?” Seiji asks, tone idly curious.

Their shoulders brush occasionally as they walk; the path is just a bit too narrow for both, but neither is willing to walk behind the other.

Seiji … does not mind as much as he probably should.

(He begins to understand the more subtle dangers of the youkai that targets his family, if one could bring oneself to overlook the missing eye.)

(His grip on the ward in his hand tightens briefly.)

Shuuichi shoots him an incredulous look. Well played: it is perfectly in character, in addition to not requiring that the youkai fabricate any lies.

The reports had been clear: it could mimic appearance and attitude; it could call its victim by name and knew their relation to the person it appeared to be, but its knowledge did not appear to extend much beyond that.

Which gives Seiji an idea.

He is growing bored with simply walking along, waiting for the youkai to attack.

(He is concerned by the part of himself that is all too content.)

But if he can provoke it –

“How long has it been, since we last met?” he asks. A bit over three months: at a gathering hosted by one of the few neutral families, Seiji putting in one of his gradually more frequent appearances as the Matoba clan representative. There’d been four gatherings since, three of them run by Seiji’s clan or one of its subsidiaries; the fourth of which he’d had to miss because of a school event, of all things.

Shuuichi shrugs. “A while,” he says. Adds, clearly nettled, “I’ve been busy. And it’s not like _you_ attend all of the gatherings, either.”

A lucky guess. Though more than he’d have expected the youkai to say, unless it thought the added verisimilitude worth the extra risk.

Seiji inclines his head to acknowledge the point. “You are graduating soon, are you not? Have you given thought to what you will do afterward?”

“Of _course_ I’ve – wait.”

Shuuichi reaches his arm across Seiji. He obediently stops, settling into himself like the moment before releasing an arrow, his senses on high alert. Faking a distraction would be an ideal time for the youkai to strike. The only question is what –

Someone – some _thing_ – appears from between the trees. It is humanoid and human-sized, wearing a yukata the color of the dirt below their feet. But no one would mistake it for human, with its porcelain-pale skin.

And the flat blank white of its face.

Even as Seiji’s mind blanks, incredulous, his body moves. He sends the ward in his hand flying towards his target with the snap of a wrist, and slings his bow case off his shoulder. At his side, Shuuichi reaches into his jacket.

Just before Seiji’s ward lands, that flat white develops a mouth like a black line drawn across a fresh sheet of paper and whistles, the sounds piercing and far louder than it had any right to be.

Seiji pauses, though he _knows_ he shouldn’t.

Something – something dark, and fast, and accompanied by a great gust of wind – rushes towards him. Slams into him, sending him flying into a nearby tree, as his bow case goes flying and Shuuichi shouts and -

\- his arm -

The pain flares, white hot, and for a moment it is all his mind can process.

“Seiji? Are you all right?”

Shuuichi – the _real_ Shuuichi – stands a few steps away, appearing surprisingly concerned. They are otherwise alone.

Seiji clambers to his feet, left hand almost touching the ground before he realizes what a bad idea that would be when his arm is most likely broken. “What are _you_ doing _here_?”

… Can he blame that lapse in composure on the pain?

“Isn’t it a bit late to be having that conversation?” Shuuichi snaps. “Especially given that we’ve already had it?”

Seiji may have seriously entertained the idea that a shapeshifting youkai had taken on Shuuichi’s appearance, but the thought of _admitting_ it is mortifying.

“My apologies, you are correct,” he says instead. Although from the way Shuuichi’s eyes narrow as they continue to regard him – he resists the urge to cradle his arm, its constant throbbing making it far more difficult to think than it should be – he suspects Shuuichi sees more than he would like.

But instead of prying further, Shuuichi simply shakes his head. “I’ll go see –”

“Wait,” Seiji interrupts. “Don’t –”

_Leave me._

He cuts off the rest of the sentence before it can form, angry at his own weakness. Not even the pain is sufficient excuse to explain _that_.

(Nor should he need excuses, signs of weakness all on their own. Yes, Seiji knows he is human and fallible – but that doesn’t mean he has to _act_ like it.)

“It would be more expedient for us to stay together,” he says instead, and hopes it doesn’t sound as much like an excuse to Shuuichi’s ears as it does to his own. “It clearly has even more difficulty shifting in front of more than one target than initial reports implied.”

Shuuichi hesitates, then turns back fully towards Seiji. “Then what should we do?”

The question is strangely devoid of his usual combativeness; his glance towards Seiji’s arm as obvious as it is infuriating. He clearly doubts Seiji’s ability to use his bow in this state – if the bow itself has even survived, though the case, at least, appears intact.

That he is correct is even more infuriating.

Seiji does his best to fight off both the throbbing pain – he gets the point, really – and self-directed anger. Neither is useful, here.

“I know several circles that would serve almost as well,” he says. He doesn’t mention retreat as a possibility. On that point, both of them have always agreed.

He considers. Yes, that would do. “It may take a few minutes to draw, however.” It burns, to admit as much. He should be faster. But especially with the less than ideal circumstances – the path half-covered in leaves and the irritatingly persistent distraction of his arm – he doubts he’ll be moving anywhere near his fastest. And setting accurate expectations is more important than his pride.

Shuuichi glances around. “I don’t see any need to rush.”

“Now that it knows we are here, it has only two choices,” Seiji says, reminding himself once again that Shuuichi has not grown up with this. “To hide and hope we leave, or to attack before we’re ready.” He is a bit surprised it hasn’t renewed its attack yet. Perhaps it is hoping that they will do just what Shuuichi had almost done: split up, and leave themselves both doubly vulnerable.

“And you think it’ll attack.”

“As soon as it thinks we’re sufficiently distracted,” Seiji confirms. “Possibly sooner, if it recognizes my circle as a threat.” Which it most certainly _would_ be.

“All right,” Shuuichi says, and if his tone is grudging, Seiji chooses to ignore it. “You might as well get started, then.”

Seiji raises an eyebrow. Shuuichi shrugs. “A minute or two? If it attacks, I can distract it for that long, easily.”

Bravado, most certainly. But if that was the way he wished to play it, Seiji would be a fool not to take him up on it. “Very well.”

Not far from their current position, the path widened. Still narrower than Seiji would prefer, but it ought to suffice. He picks up his bow case on the way over (once again remembering only just in time not to use his injured arm) and sets it, gently, off to the side of the road. He’ll need to inspect it, to ensure the rough treatment hadn’t harmed it, but that would be a task for later.

A recent storm has left leaves and small branches littering the area; it doesn’t take much effort to find one of the latter long enough to serve as a makeshift writing utensil. A circle drawn in the leaf-strewn dirt of the path will not be as strong as one drawn on proper paper with a proper brush, but Seiji must work with what he has.

And one thing he has, is more than enough power to make up the difference.

He’s barely finished the symbols around the inner ring of the circle when the crackle of leaves alerts him to the fact that they are no longer alone. But much as he’d like to, Seiji does not look up. It’s difficult enough to concentrate as it is.

Shuuichi’s feet pound past; something white flashes in the corner of Seiji’s eye. He shouts wordlessly – added distraction? If it was effective, that would be good to know.

Something crashes through the trees.

_I hope that wasn’t –_

_Stop it. Concentrate._

Seiji completes the last symbol and steps back. “Ready!”

“Good!” Seiji hears Shuuichi before he sees him – dashing back out onto the path, the youkai hot on his trail. Seiji catches a flash of black before the youkai fades back into white and brown, rejects a comment about taking unnecessary risks before the thought had fully formed (this was not the time), and presses his hands together, refusing to wince.

At least he hasn’t lost any range of motion. That would have been … unfortunate. He should have verified that before he’d suggested the circle –

_Focus_.

He begins to chant.

The youkai slows, but keeps coming.

_Focus_.

He should still have plenty of time, as long as he keeps going.

The youkai reaches out, its arms longer than they look –

A chain of gleaming white wraps around the youkai, forcibly pulling its arms back down.

_Don’t look. Focus._

Seiji finishes the chant and watches, satisfied, as the youkai and the chain that had bound it both flare white and dissipate like dust on the wind.

_Then_ , he lets himself look.

Shuuichi, of course – it could hardly have been anyone else – looking unusually smug. A small handful of small paper dolls drift to the ground in front of his feet.

“I see you’ve been practicing,” Seiji says, pleased. He’s seen similar techniques used before, but the speed and control Shuuichi had demonstrated was still rather impressive, for how short a time he must have been using them.

Shuuichi bristles at the compliment, but when he speaks, his voice is surprisingly calm. “How’s your arm?”

Seiji forms and releases a fist, ignoring how the movement shoots fresh spikes of pain through the irritatingly distracting background throb. “It’s nothing that need concern you,” he says. Unfortunate, yes. He does not look forward to Nanase-san’s sideways implied ‘I told you so’s or distracting his father with concern for his son, and regrets most of all that he has not truly learned what he came here for.

But there is reading he can catch up on while he waits for his arm to heal enough to be usable without adversely affecting its recovery. There are always things to do.

Shuuichi bristles. “I’m not concerned,” he snaps. But he also bends to help clean away the remnants of Seiji’s hastily constructed circle, and walks over with swift steps to pick up Seiji’s bow case and sling it across his back before turning back the way they’d come.

Seiji falls into step at his side. A look at Shuuichi’s face is enough to determine that getting his bow back now would be more trouble than it is worth.

They walk back to the edge of the forest in silence, although not an uncomfortable one. From there, to the edge of town. From the edge of town, to its single small train station.

Seiji’s train is due in ten minutes, Shuuichi’s in about twenty. Contrary to expectations, Shuuichi continues standing beside him instead of crossing to the other platform. He looks straight ahead, gaze distant, and Seiji considers pointing out his behavior. But if Shuuichi is ridiculous enough to be indulging in some form of pity, Seiji sees no need to listen to him refuse to explain it. (Or, worse yet, _not_ refuse.)

In the space for idle thought carved out by the silence between them, he wonders, suddenly, what Shuuichi saw when he and the youkai crashed out of sight. If Seiji was not to learn his own weaknesses, the least he could have done was find out more about his companion’s.

That thought leads to another. “You are not going to offer me all the credit on this job, as well?” he asks blandly.

Shuuichi jumps. Clearly takes a moment to process the question, and glares. “No, I’m not,” he says, tensing up in clear preparation for a confrontation.

Seiji smiles. Shuuichi has learned more than just a few new skills, it seems. “Good.”

The train comes, the breeze of its passage ruffling both their hair. Seiji holds out his uninjured hand, and Shuuichi hands him the case, appearing disconcerted by his response.

Seiji steps onto the train, and doesn’t look back.


End file.
